How He Loved Her
by Jessa L'Rynn
Summary: Over the course of 900 years, there are ways and ways to meet someone. Mate to When You're Older.
1. Ten

_The stories that follow are a paired. The opposite story is called When You're Older and can be found on my Author page. Both stories follow Rose's chronology and will be updated simultaneously._ **

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Ten: Because He Needed to Say It 

Rose was gone and he hadn't even gotten to tell her the truth, and he honestly couldn't decide what hurt worse. He'd burned up a star to say goodbye to her, but he'd still run out of time. Useless habit in a Time Lord, but it was forever happening to him.

After he'd ditched the kind but infuriating Donna, he sank into a depression so deep even the TARDIS couldn't drag him out. She'd taken him to three planets he had always loved and four he had always hated, but he wouldn't even open the doors, just dematerialized as soon as he realized they'd actually landed somewhere. He changed his brown suit for blue - the brown would never do again, and blue was a perfectly appropriate color for a Time Lord in deep mourning. He stopped shaving, bathed irregularly, and sank ever deeper.

After about a month of this, the TARDIS had actually shifted the rooms around until he was in the shower, washed and fluff dried him like those wretched lifts on New Earth, which hurt to remember, then moved him to the console room. The TARDIS materialized and, before he could even get his feet under him, opened up and tilted the floor to drop him, unceremoniously, into the middle of a children's play park on Earth.

He demanded to be let back in and she ignored him. He tried his key, but the lock zapped his fingers. Figuring the ship was in a snit because of his mood, he sighed and walked up to the top of the hill to look at the park.

There were time traces scattered magnificently all around it. Some were perfectly normal, but there was that one set, so distinctive in amongst the ordinary patterns, the one set that blazed brighter than the sun, the only set he had ever seen on a human being that literally danced. He knew she was there, even before he spotted her dark blonde hair by the swings or her mother on a nearby bench with a man who looked friendly and sympathetic.

He cursed quietly and fluently and pulled out his TARDIS key, setting up a resonance pattern on it so he wouldn't be seen as long as he wore it. Another Time Lord might see through it, but he didn't have to worry about that anymore, did he?

He stalked off across the park and contemplated finding a bench to sit on until moss grew on him like some kind of forgotten statue. The TARDIS could just go be inconceivably rude to someone else.

When he did find that bench near the sandbox, he also found his grief quite overwhelming with Rose near enough to touch and still farther away than she had ever been. He sank under his despair and gave in to the urge that had been haunting him for weeks. He curled in on himself and wept.

When he felt the tiny hand in his own, he knew it was her even before his brain registered the implications of that fact. As soon as it had, though, he panicked.

She tried, in her tiny way, to make him feel better. That was Rose, her defining quality, the compassion she had for every little thing. She also laughed at him, which hurt so much because he wished with all his heart that the grown Rose was here to laugh with him.

When she apologized, he snapped out of it, finally, after what felt like an eon of grief. He couldn't leave Rose with a bad first impression of him, even if she would never remember it. As astounded as he was that she could see him, he knew every other pair of eyes, even the hawk-like ones on Jackie Tyler, would still miss him.

He sat with her and built her a sandcastle, the most magnificent she would ever see, just because he could and wanted to do, and she was so precious and helpful, even at her present, tiny little age. They talked, and he understood her very well, as well as he understood the adult Rose who he would never see again.

She told him a story about a cat who always came back, and it made him smile sadly, because even though she didn't know it, she was telling him her own story in a lot of ways. What she didn't know now and wouldn't even realize until the last possible minute later, was that the story had to end some time. "They lived happily ever after" didn't work, sadly.

He tried to send her back to her mum before he did something stupid in exchange for her baby brilliance. Unfortunately, his Rose had always been trouble-friendly, and found the ground far too hard on her knee when she took a fall over the edge of the sandbox. Her pitiful cry was enough to stop his hearts, and he reached out and snatched her up before he could even think better of it.

He carried her back to the bench, holding her close, protecting his little pink and yellow human from her pain, back before she was his, back before he could no longer protect her. Years from now, he would leave her sobbing on a sandy beach, unable to reach her without destroying everything. But before it came down to that, there was still time and he could still hold her hand a little while longer.

He checked and repaired her injuries with the medical supplies he always kept because, even as an adult, accidents accompanied her as long as she accompanied him. When she ordered him to kiss it better, his hearts broke for her. Only once in his life had he ever managed to do that successfully, and it had almost cost him her love as his body changed before her wide and frightened eyes.

Time had obligingly frozen for them, so he held onto her just a little longer. She was so little and she'd never remember, but maybe... just maybe...

"Rose Tyler, I love you." At long last, he finished his sentence, the one that never made it to that parallel beach with her. "I love you so much."

When she told him she loved him too, he was shaken to the very soul. She let him hold onto her, cuddle her close and sob painfully and bitterly into her hair. Then he spoke, one last time, the very last words he would ever speak to her. "Try to remember, some day when it's important, that I love you forever."

He sent her on her way, then, and it was all he could do to watch her walk away. He found, in fact, that he couldn't do it, and quickly retuned the TARDIS key so she would lose him as he bolted.

In Rose's formative mind was planted the knowledge that the Doctor loved her. It was all he could do, but as he made his way in to the slightly less sulky TARDIS, he found that it was as close to enough as he was going to get. These last precious moments, even with a miniature Rose in his arms, had been a nexus toward his salvation.

Maybe she would forget all about it. Maybe she was standing by the winter cold Norwegian sea wondering if he had ever felt anything for her.

Then again, maybe, just maybe, she was looking up at the stars right now and remembering the words whispered to her a short lifetime ago by a man she could only half remember. Maybe she was realizing, only now, where those words had come from, what they had really meant. Maybe the world was turning under her feet and she was feeling it, really feeling it, and knowing at last that every single time he had said the word "run", he really meant "I love you."


	2. Nine

_The stories that follow are paired. The opposite story is called and can be found on my Author page. Both stories follow Rose's chronology and will be updated simultaneously. I also still have to disclaim, as Russell T Davies has not yet hired me. I'd move to London, I really, really will, Mr. Davies!_

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**Nine: Because Her Hand Fit**

When the TARDIS landed in London in 1990, he knew something was very, very wrong. There was something happening in the local continuum, something he could see if he just concentrated. Actually, he would see it unless he concentrated, because it was becoming quickly the more senior reality, starting to try to take precedence over the way things were meant to be. The potential paradox was shaking him with its sterile, brutal promise.

He locked the TARDIS behind him, and almost managed to be glad he didn't have a companion to explain this to - almost.

The invasion he remembered was taking place as it had happened in his memory. He himself was maybe two blocks away, trying to get the general populace, the UNIT soldiers, and the invaders out of each other's way. But whatever was going wrong was going wrong right here.

Then he heard the faintest sound - like something soft falling against something metal. He followed the time traces and the faint sounds still coming from that direction and found a little girl, hunched behind a dumpster, drawing on the pavement with a little bit of rock.

"What're you doing here, then?" he asked her, watching as the time traces all converged around her tiny, morose looking form. She was wreathed in them, shining amber and sparkling in a cloak of fire only he could see. He knew her at once, didn't even need to ask her name, because she was one of few human beings he had ever heard of with this magnificently identifying feature, the way Time glittered in ecstatic worship around her.

"I'm hiding. Mum and I ran like you said, but I..." she sighed and looked up at him, meeting his eyes. "I kinda lost her."

He was more than a bit impressed that she recognized him, since she couldn't have seen him for more than a few seconds that day. "Come on out, I'll take you home," he said.

"You're a soldier, right? Mummy says I'm only to talk to police if I get lost. I guess a soldier would be ok, you're like police, aren't you?" He was surprised to realize that the TARDIS was translating her piping four-year-old garble into something he could easily understand. He didn't realize before that the TARDIS knew English toddler talk. Maybe it was just because she was familiar to them both, regardless of her age.

She stood up and held out her baby hand for him. "I'm Rose Tyler."

"Tell you what, Rose," he said, "under a circumstance like this, it's ok to talk to soldiers who can help you." And he took her hand, grinning at her when he discovered that, even when it was this small, it still fit perfectly.

"Thank you," she said. "I'm sorry I didn't follow orders right," she added after a second.

He almost laughed out loud at that. "I bet that's going to become a habit of yours," he said with a conspiratorial twinkle and turned to lead her around the battle and back to her flat. "One very, very important thing, though, Miss Tyler, you had better learn to hold on to people's hands when they're trying to keep you out of trouble."

Her attention span had apparently never changed. "You have pretty eyes," she said, "even if you have got big ears. I think they're neat ears, though," she added, apparently worried she had hurt his feelings, as she nibbled on her lip just like she would do 15 years later.

This time he did laugh, and walked with her as fast as she could keep up, reinforcing the lesson about holding hands, since he couldn't change anything, anyway, and she would never remember this. Maybe it would be subconscious. Maybe it had worked a little.

He took her straight to the door, only making one mistake that he wouldn't realize until later. Just as he was about to ring the bell, she tugged on his hand and he looked down at her. Her eyes, even at that age, were huge, breath-taking, magnificent. Even at her present age of only four, he would never be able to say no to her. Expecting some sort of infant affection or maybe a child's complaint about being made to walk too fast, he was more than a little shocked - staggered, actually - by what she said.

"Can we get married some day?"

She was a baby, a complete innocent. How could she hit so well on the one question that could easily have left him utterly speechless? He looked at her, this time, really looked at her, let her see every ounce of the pure, true, tender emotions he had felt for her from the moment he first took her hand. "Ask me again when you're older," he told her, not just because she would never remember, not just because she would never actually ask, but mostly, almost entirely, because he meant it.

Then, he hit the doorbell and took off at a dead run. He did stop at the corner to take one last peek at her, just as her mother chivvied her inside.

This was not the end, not anymore.

She'd just asked him a very important question. He'd asked her an important question once, too, but she didn't give him the right answer. Well, but his answer to her question probably didn't seem quite right, either. He should go back, ask her again. He had a time machine. She was older, now, and he hadn't changed. Maybe she'd want to ask her question again, too, some day soon. Not that he's ever have an answer to it, not that she'd really ever ask it. But, maybe...

He smiled as he set the coordinates, back to less than a minute after he left her. He would see her again, all bathed in sunshine and stardust, the golden girl whose hand fit just right, who could win the love of Time, and the hearts of a Time Lord. There was every chance, after all, that they both should ask at least twice, and that fact was more precious than diamonds.


	3. Seven

_The stories that follow are paired. The opposite story is called "When You're Older" and can be found on my Author page. Both stories follow Rose's chronology and will be updated simultaneously. I also still have to disclaim, as Russell T Davies has not yet hired me. I really want that job!_

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**Seven: Because He Saw Her**

The last thing he expected when he substituted for a substitute at the small primary school in London was to spend his afternoons baby-sitting. But some twist of a humorous fate or a whimsical god had planted him in exactly that scenario and he found himself with one of his temporary students staying in his custody after school.

Ace, when he told her, had informed him it was his own fault for seeming so gentle and so sincere. Then she'd run off to Cardiff, chasing after some mysterious bloke whose very presence upset the Doctor terribly. She promised to be back by the time he tracked down the weird alien signal he was getting from the vicinity of the school and in the meantime left him with, among other things, a small girl to entertain for two hours every afternoon for a week.

She was brunette and very small, with enormous brown eyes and tiny fingers that he found himself wrapped around, much to his on-going astonishment. The very first afternoon, she sat coloring for maybe all of two minutes before interrupting him in a piping, imperious little voice. She was too proud, he mused, for a council estate child, too proud for an empress, even, or a Lord President of Gallifrey. "Doctor Smith," she repeated over his bewildered train of thought, "I'm bored."

"What would you like to do, then, Rose, if you don't want to draw?" In this incarnation, he saw too much and he knew before she was too much older, even by human standards, that she would see stars burn and worlds begin and end. It was there in those eyes, it clung to her, traces of time and eternity, a well-banked little fire, this girl, who awaited only a single spark to ignite her, and then she would blaze like newborn heaven.

"Read me a story," she requested, gesturing at his journal on the desk. It may as well have been an order from her, because he would take it as such, no doubt about it.

"Very well," he said and rolled the 'r' elegantly, causing her to giggle that pixie-melodious tone. "Let's just get comfortable, shall we?" And he let her sit in a small chair near his feet while he settled himself into his desk chair, propped his umbrella against the wall, and used it to lean his feet on.

All week he told her stories, about the worlds he would see and she would someday touch, about the worlds she would never see and he would never see again. He told her tales of brave little girls and living ships and trees of silver under double suns, stories he had told his grand daughter, stories he told to Ace, and would probably never tell again. But she was precious to him, and grew more precious every day that passed, and she had no idea why. Her spark was scattered all over his life, and she would probably never know.

When he finally found the signal and shut it down, closing the small rift that generated it, he would normally have collected his companion and snuck off into the waiting night, the passing stars. But he couldn't leave Rose without saying good-bye, so he stayed with her one last day, and ended up singing her to sleep after she finally caught on that the stories were coming from his mind and not his book. He sang her an old Gallifreyan lullaby in his moody dark tenor voice, listening to the sound of her sleepy heart tripping away merrily on toward the days when they would meet again.

He promised to see her again some day, because he could see it in her, and sent her home with her mother, but not before she had told him she loved him. As far as she knew, she did. But as far as he knew, he could tell, she had touched his life a thousand little ways and would touch it more in her future. This was only first contact, not goodbye. So he thanked her and left the truth unsaid, as was his wont, and left just after she did to find his companion and await the next time he'd see Rose Tyler. There would be next times, just as there were last times. And if he heard the echo in his head of a burning star and a battered, empty beach, he ignored it, and the words, too, that might remain forever unsaid.


	4. Two

_The stories that follow are paired. The opposite story is called "When You're Older" and can be found on my Author page. Both stories follow Rose's chronology and will be updated simultaneously. I also still have to disclaim, as Russell T Davies has not yet hired me. I really want that job. Please note that these will get longer as Rose gets older._

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**Two: Because She Knew Him**

"Get back here, you," the Doctor shouted, pounding after the little waviform "bug" as it scuttled through the halls. He had left Jamie asleep in the TARDIS and went out to find out what was giving off that strange signature and encountered the little invader in the basement of a local gym. It was, unfortunately, not alone, but one of thousands. He would have to kill every one of them or they'd take over the Earth. Granted, not in the usual way, but by crowding out the natural insect species and ravaging the ecosystem. He had thankfully arrived before this pod had spread but it was a very close thing. Whatever happened, he'd have to find a way to stage a closure of this building to the outside world tomorrow while he eradicated the unnatural little aliens.

The creature took flight up the stairs and led him on a merry chase into the main gymnasium. The second it finally touched down, he stomped it quite remorselessly. Dusting his hands off, he turned to cut back through the gym, but froze in horror at the sight that met his eyes.

There was a girl, a very small girl, crumpled at the base of a set of parallel bars. She was unnaturally still, and looked so very pale in the dim lights from overhead. He didn't even pause to consider any other option, just ran toward her, rifling through his pockets as he went and wishing he had his companion handy to hold this and that, which were useless, although this might come in handy, and he'd wondered where that had got off to.

At first glance, he might have thought she was dead. There was a small pool of blood and she hadn't yet stirred. However, his eyes, time sensitive eyes that saw a fourth dimension amongst the ordinary three, told him quite clearly that she was not only alive, she was also glorious.

An endless golden spiral of possibility cavorted all about her small form, the time traces growing and blooming and cascading around her in a euphoric dance that seemed to praise her every breath. To all mortal appearances, she was a little human girl, but he had only ever seen one set of time traces so profound in all his life. They were vaguely familiar, as she was, but there was no time to sort that out, not right now when her life and all the glowing possibility around her was hanging on her weakest breath.

He checked her expertly and found to his relief that nothing was broken, so it was safe enough to move her, which he did, away from the light and into a safer, more comfortable position. He elevated her feet, and folded a handy towel under her head after he cleaned and closed the cut with the thirty-second century antiseptic he found deep inside his pocket.

She started to stir almost immediately. Her first words gave him some hope of a speedy recovery, since they indicated that she at least knew that his coat was odd, out of season. So she had some idea of the world around her, which was promising.

However, when he demanded to know what she was doing there, alone and unconscious in a gymnasium in the middle of the night, she gave him an answer that he thought might have scared ten years off this body. It took him a moment to realize that she couldn't possibly be right and was just complaining from the pain in a typical human exaggeration. But she had said she was dying, and the possibility had disturbed him far more than he would have believed.

They had a discussion about painkillers that went somewhat strange, and he gave her a jelly baby, pleased to note both that she had the curiosity to rummage for a specific one, and the ability to eat it and keep it down.

When she had the audacity to ask him what had happened, he was worried again. He asked how old she was and what on Earth she was doing there of all places in the middle of the night without her parents, and discovered a shocking number of things about her in a very short time. She was a fatherless child, out alone because she thought she needed to practice to compete in this contest that she didn't seem even particularly interested in. She also seemed to trust him, completely, which was both strange and precious in a life spent being thrown out of or imprisoned in almost every place he ever went. Probably it was the fall, because she was also relieved when he told her the contest would have to be postponed.

Everything was fine for a brief moment, as he started to ask her about herself to keep her awake, but she was more interested in him, and in expressing a sweet-natured gratitude for his help. She reached out and took his hand and for the briefest of moments, he felt that it fit exactly the way it was supposed to do.

All at once, something happened to her. The blow to her head combined with the touch of his hand to turn all that staggering flow of time around her inward. Hers was such a small, delicate human mind, and suddenly it wasn't simple or calm, but far-seeing and stormy. She looked at him, her brown eyes all swirled through with gold, but she saw far more than this flighty, often silly, gentle incarnation he had lucked into for his first regeneration. Instead, she saw deep into him, into the future he could never quite glimpse, into the past he had all but forgotten. She had gone time-sensitive, and she wasn't built to handle it, not so young, not at all.

Panicked, he asked for her name, watching her drift out of focus as those stars pooled inside her and tugged her blindly toward them. Time meant her no harm, adored her, delighted in her quick, mortal presence, but she was so innocent and neither her body nor her mind should ever have to bear it.

He called her - Rose, she said - and he remembered all at once telling someone something about her, some time. Meeting her before, after, later, again. He remembered her like he sometimes remembered things that wouldn't happen for hundreds of years, odd things, like meeting his third, fifth and sixth incarnations, paradoxical things, like futures that had never happened because he had happened instead.

Impossible things, like knowing her for the rest of his life.

She had her head tilted to one side, as if she was listening to something he couldn't hear. No, no, no. It was too strange, too hard and, something told him, too soon. She couldn't know, shouldn't ever know. He reached into his pocket and grabbed the vial of healing solution, pulling it open with his teeth. He hadn't planned on using it, it was so hard to come by for him these days, but this was absolutely necessary. A time sensitive child in the late twentieth century had to be the very last thing he expected. Besides, as the fragrance drifted the drug into her system, he had to admit that she would have been worth taking a trip to Gallifrey if he hadn't had it on him.

The gold receded behind her eyes where it belonged, the brown now sparkling with affection and even more trust than before. Even Susan - brilliant, sweet, lost Susan - had never regarded him so fondly as this strange little girl did while he lied to her about the nature of the medicine.

If he hadn't seen the titanic forces curling through her, the scene that followed would have stopped his hearts. She whispered just two words, but one was impossible. Just a simple thank you.

Just his name.

The moment broke when her mother arrived for her and she closed her eyes, after whispering the last words he would have expected to hear from a stranger. But she wasn't a stranger, this little time spun girl with stars in her eyes. She would be familiar to him for the rest of his life because that was how long she would be there, time and again, until even he forgot what life was like without her. Even though he didn't answer her, he could have replied the same with utter honesty.

But for now, she didn't need to know. Before her mother had her carried off, he reached carefully into her head and planted the idea of a trauma-induced dream into her mind. It was safest that she never remember what had almost happened to her. It was better that she not remember him.

He waited in the shadows until the strange people with the odd, T-shaped logos on their clothes turned up to deal with the bugs and close the place down. Fine, he was never much of an exterminator, anyway.

A week later, he watched where she couldn't see him as she won a bronze medal for the under-sevens, and then he left. It was a great wrench but, on the way out, he fuzzed his own memory of her, too. They would meet again, that was what really mattered, so he didn't have to worry. It might be in her past, it might be in her future, but he would see her again, charging happily through her precious life, trailing a pink and gold cascade of butterfly time traces in her wake. But the next time he touched her hand, it would hurt neither of them.


	5. Three

_The stories that follow are paired. The opposite story is called "When You're Older" and can be found on my Author page. Both stories follow Rose's chronology and will be updated simultaneously. I also still have to disclaim, as I am still hoping for getting RTD to hire me for Christmas. I really want that job. Please note that these will get longer as Rose gets older._

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**Three: Because She Knew the Answer**

When he first appeared, he was decidedly annoyed to discover that he hadn't moved off the insufferable planet. A few moment's observation didn't help at all, because he couldn't tell if he'd gone more than a few miles. That was beyond infuriating and, had he even a slightly sharper personality in this incarnation, he would probably have sworn the air a vivid, luxurious blue, roundly damning the Time Lords and all their seed, breed, and generation. Including himself, he had to admit.

He walked a ways, but the forest didn't seem to end and, after a bit, he realized he was good and lost. So, brilliant Time Lord, there. He didn't know where he was, he didn't know when he was and, thanks to the mucked up mess they'd made of his knowledge of time travel, he rather suspected he didn't quite know how he was.

He was beyond relieved when he came upon a young human girl, dressed in clothes that dated her either to the late 20th century or the early 36th. Judging by the forest, and until he got a better look at the fabrics, he'd have to guess the former. He called out to her in a friendly fashion. She took one look at him, absorbed his words, and collapsed, sobbing, to her knees.

He paused for a moment to take stock. A young child alone in a thick wood was object one. He was willing to bet his car that she was far more lost than he was. Object two was her appearance. She was small, with dish-water blonde hair and a dirty, tired face.

She was also magnificent.

Time traces, those glittering lines of possibilities, threaded thickly around her, interwoven, overlapping, chaotic in patterns that formed and reformed constantly under his dazzled eyes. It looked, to his Time-sensitive gaze, as though a star was bowed, weeping, on the damp, human earth.

He knelt beside her, and put a hand on her shoulder to calm her down. He couldn't leave such a miraculous little thing so bitterly unhappy. She gasped sharply, sobbed again, and then threw herself into his arms.

He soothed her as best he could, with kind, calming words, noting distractedly that it was definitely the late 20th century. So he'd managed to travel somewhat in time, though not enough, not nearly enough, to prove he was still anything other than a trapped victim of the Time Lords' indifference.

The girl, meanwhile, had begun to relate the story of how she got here. Some sort of childhood disagreement with a friend, and he did feel bad for her. To follow an argument with a disaster like this would likely spell the end of their friendship.

He interrupted her with the cheerful observation that she was obviously a champion talker, and it astonished her out of her tears. Then, to his absolute amazement, she explained that she was not angry at her friend, despite their hurtful conversation, and that she understood very well something that many human beings couldn't figure out in their entire lives.

Her compassion and her comprehension were frankly quite appealing. He suddenly was very grateful to have run into her. Now, if he could just get her back to her people, he could move on and see what else he could find to give the console more power and a chance to get moving a little further. He held up a hand for silence and listened carefully.

She took his hand in hers, and he turned to her, shocked beyond words. Her small hand fit into his perfectly, her winsome little smile warmed his hearts. She was amazing, all big-eyed and mortal and delicate, so strange, and yet so very familiar. She reminded him of someone and, even as she said her name, he wondered if she might not be reminding him of herself.

Instead of conveying this confusing impression, though, he held tight to her trusting little digits and pointed off into the woods, telling her he heard water, and that following water was the easiest way to find people in untracked wilderness.

As they walked, he noticed her watching him out of the corner of her eye, perhaps realizing that she was holding the hand of a stranger, perhaps considering if he was a threat to her. Instead, she blurted suddenly, in a piping, excited voice, "Are you a spy?"

He was startled into laughter by this, thinking of James Bond and all the gadgetry he himself kept back in his workshop at UNIT headquarters. "Just call me Doctor Bond," he said cheerfully, and then told her what he had noticed, that she was exceptionally clever.

She denied it with an earnest sorrow that was quite painful to see. So he decided to prove her wrong, and asked her a question that someone with her particular gifts would be uniquely suited to answer. She understood people, their motives, their thought processes. That much was blindingly obvious almost immediately. So he asked her, in a parallel sort of way, what she made of the Time Lords shipping him off to Earth because he was different.

They sat together on a fallen log while he clarified his little story, to make it easier for her. He had to pick her up to put her on the log with him, but she was feather-light and felt so familiar that he didn't even surprise himself when he still refused to relinquish her hand.

Her answer to his question was positively inspired. It was kind, and forgiving, but also instructive. "None of us would be very happy, because we'd miss each other," she said, which amazed him, because he'd never actually stopped to consider their point of view on the matter. His frank astonishment over her revelation must have worried her, because she apologized and asked if she'd gotten the answer right.

He encouraged her to go on, delighted with her splendid little human consideration of his problem. Admittedly, he had simplified it enormously for her, but when he got down to brass tacks, her answer was actually a learned dissertation from a talented observer of creature nature, nature that applied to Time Lords as readily as humans. For all that he usually never wanted to give them one iota of benefit of any sort of doubt, her innocent translation of his problem had made it seem as if they, too, would be living with regrets for dropping him here. Maybe she was right, maybe they were.

Then, her explanation took a turn that made him feel quite shockingly and unexpectedly guilty. "I'd try to get on with the new people and get to know them, even if I did miss my old friends, because it's hardly their fault." He thought of the sad, tired smile on Liz's face, the vague, shuttered concern on the Brigadier's, as he'd insulted the entire planet and everyone on it. They hadn't been angry, in fact, but had become quite used to his obnoxious behavior.

He laughed at himself, because he was sure it was the right thing to do. There was truth in her words, fact in her unknowing parable. So he thought for a millisecond of a way to phrase it, and then asked her what to do when they wanted you to do for them what you were abandoned for in the first place.

She was, briefly, outraged at this, and told him exactly how annoying that sort of behavior was, with which observation he heartily concurred. But then, she had another answer, and it was a like ocean breeze in August, all the hope in hell. "It might be their way of trying to help, to let me know they still like me, even if they can't have me around." She was human, mortal, and a tiny genius. "Helping them out might help them understand how bad it is."

He just sat quietly and absorbed her words, feeling the first stirrings of peace since the moment he'd woke, trapped, on this small blue-green rock. He wondered briefly if the lengthy, involuntary stay wasn't worth it entirely, simply because of this one magical encounter. At last, he felt he'd best start them moving again because, however exhilarating her young mind was, he knew he couldn't keep her, not even for a little while.

Since they had been using music for the parallel, and since her name was Rose, he taught her an old ballad he remembered learning ages ago. He liked to sing, and she did, too, so it made sense to keep their minds off this long, uncomfortable walk with a bit of gentle music. She learned rather quickly, and soon her untrained, bluesy, childish tenor was twinned with his skilled, smooth baritone in a startlingly good rendering of "My Love is Like a Red, Red Rose."

She looked up at him, grinning fiercely, her huge eyes all wide and impressed with the sound. Something very odd tugged at his memory, a memory he had forgotten for a very, very long time. "I used to sing that song," he murmured, "with my... wife." Where had that come from?

It was unexpected, out of the blue, but par for the course, really. The Time Lords had extracted some of his memories, so some he had never been able to make sense of had a closer reach to the surface.

"Oh," said the child vaguely. "Where is she?"

"I... lost her," he said, the only answer he knew.

She was understandably confused at the melancholy turn the conversation had taken, but not as confused as he felt, trying to tug that unravelling thread back out where he could see it. "Was she pretty?"

He smiled, and nodded, knowing this one impression had always been right. "I thought so," he replied quietly.

She took a deep breath and changed the subject, for which he was absurdly grateful. "Let me teach you a song, now," she said quietly. "My teacher found it for us to sing in school."

He listened attentively while she smiled whimsically and launched into a mountain song about a girl whose love had to go away. The confidence with which she fluted out the assertive lyrics, "But he's coming back, if he goes ten thousand miles..." brought a smile to his face, even if it felt as strangely familiar as she did.

Before long, he was singing along, and then he tried to teach her some Verdi while she giggled. The sun was setting and he could see she was exhausted but then, mercifully, they heard voices. "That's Shireen's dad!" she said. "Oh, you did it!"

Not we did it, not they did it - he did it. Of all the times he had ever been given credit for anything, this one moment felt more exciting and more hearts-stopping than any other, because she smiled up at him, her huge eyes dancing, her face like a light. In her exuberance, she hugged him and in his gratitude, he hugged her back. "Let's go!" she exclaimed.

"No, you go on, my dear little Rose. I have to get back." He smiled at her. "Don't worry, child, I'll be quite safe, with the new friends we've discussed." He watched her eyes go all sad and sorrowful, so he tilted her little chin up and told her something he was absolutely sure of now - he would see her again, though he couldn't say how or when. "You've done something wonderful for me, Rose, and I'll always be grateful."

"But all I did was get lost," she said, chewing at her lip in nervous concern. "And you found me."

"But you found me, too," he said. "Go on, now. I'll wait here, 'til I'm sure you're safe."

She nodded and ran off, but hadn't gone more than a few steps before she turned back, grabbed his hand, pulled him down and kissed his cheek. "I love you, Doctor," she said softly and then turned and darted away again.

He brushed a surprised hand over his cheek, where a star-spun little whirlwind had just kissed him. A few minutes passed, and he heard people cry out her name and enormous relief at finding her safe. He smiled and turned back then, heading to the console to return it and him back to where he was supposed to be. She might be wrong about the Time Lords; it was hard to change several years of pent up frustration, even now. But she might be right, too, and maybe there was a chance to make the best of his lot in this uncomfortable situation. Besides, the TARDIS console without the TARDIS was less than half the fun.

He walked away, humming that song under his breath, and considering how in the world he was going to make this up to the Brigadier.


	6. Four

_The stories that follow are paired. The opposite story is called "When You're Older" and can be found on my Author page. Both stories follow Rose's chronology and will be updated simultaneously. I also still have to disclaim, but all I want for Christmas is a job from RTD. This is the famous Christmas episode, but there'll be two more updates by New Year's._

_As a special request, for a new story I am working on, I need to know any and every question any of you have ever had about Doctor Who. So lay them on me!_

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**Four: Because She Was Generous**

Being Father Christmas had seemed the safest way into the shop at first, but that was before he met the little Time-spun elf with the peroxide blonde hair and the enormous eyes. One glance at her revealed her as something truly special, a butterfly just waiting to be born from a cocoon of dancing stars. Time danced merry attendance on her every move and to the eyes of a Time Lord, she shone very brightly indeed.

She insulted his scarf, of course, in the nicest way possible, and made him laugh almost from the minute he laid eyes on her. She was pretty, in her little girl, pixie way, and every bit as sweet as her juvenile giggle sounded. She charmed her way in, while the other children gathered around him looked on the two of them in awe.

It was probably the beard. A little twiddling with the TARDIS time settings and he had managed to grow a full beard for fun, and then painted it and his hair stark white. If he was going in disguise, this was probably the most effective.

Rose Tyler, as she introduced herself over a jelly baby, was determined to make him into the best Father Christmas the store had ever had, so he took her advice, toned down his booming voice to something slightly less boisterous, and happily asked each child what he wanted for Christmas without scaring even the smallest one.

It was funny, though, how she reminded him of the life he had never had, and how cuddling these strangers' children with her at his side handing out candy seemed almost appropriate. When they took a break for lunch, he expected to find time to trace the last of the clothes made from alien smart fabrics that ended up here by mistake. Instead, he spent the time with her, while the others swanned off with their friends or their parents for the hour. It wasn't that she didn't have the option - six other children had asked her to join them, but she stayed firmly at his side, and they ended up sharing fish and chips in the small cafe next to the store.

On their dinner break, he went with her to collect her gift certificate and was actually surprised when he reached for one of the alien artifacts to find her little hand tucked safely inside his enormous one. It had fit so perfectly he'd hardly even noticed. What he did notice, however, was that she looked at the bicycles in the toy department for a lot longer than she obviously wanted to before leading him off to pick up her present for her mum. "It's gone, anyway, the best one, so it's okay."

"'Spretty, innit?" she asked, holding up the little silver bracelet she'd picked out. It was tiny and inexpensive, but Rose was apparently quite proud of herself, because it was real silver and, if she just put in a few dollars from her carefully hoarded pocket money, she could get a little charm with her mum's birthstone in it as well.

The emotion that welled inside him while she made her purchase would have astonished him this morning, but that was before he knew what an amazing soul went with that tiny, pretty little face. The way Time clung to her seemed perfectly sensible in that moment, the way it circled, danced, and stepped aside for her, watching her every gentle movement with tender admiration. Giving was not rare, either for the place or the time, but Rose, in and of herself, was a treasure.

After the children had all departed, even the other volunteer elves, he picked her up and pried the truth of the bicycle out of her. It had ended in tears, because she was so tired, and he decided he'd just have to come back after the alien clothes (since he'd taken the trouble to make sure none of them were sold this morning before they started by setting up a little code on the sonic screwdriver that rendered them effectively invisible). Instead, he took her home on the bus, as happy as he could remember being in a long time because there was a small, compassionate little human girl cuddled up at his side, trusting him enough to sleep while he watched her.

She kissed his cheek and told him she loved him before they parted. He knew, somehow without knowing how, that he would see her again. She was wreathed in time traces, this little pink and yellow girl, and everything about her said that the Earth would never hold her. She would never know what spending the day with her had meant to him, what it had felt like, but perhaps, just perhaps, he could give her a small idea.

A quick nip back a few days in the TARDIS and he found the bicycle she wanted, the red one with the stars and no training wheels (what did Rose Tyler need with training wheels?) and bought it without even a single thought as to whether he would have done this before. Then he went back, picked up the alien clothes, dragged them into the TARDIS and flung them into the incinerator. The last stop on this trip was a small two-bedroom in a block of identical council flats, and he left the bicycle chained to the guardrail outside the correct one.

Rose Tyler, he knew, would have the best Christmas morning ever. And if anyone deserved even that small measure of happiness, it was the little star-bound pixie girl with the enormous chocolate eyes.


	7. One

_The stories that follow are paired. The opposite story is called "When You're Older" and can be found on my Author page. Both stories follow Rose's chronology and will be updated simultaneously. I also still have to disclaim, as I did not get my new writing job for Christmas. _

_As a special request, for a new story I am working on, I need to know any and every question any of you have ever had about Doctor Who. So lay them on me!_

**

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**

**One: Because She Was Wise**

Susan was gone, and had taken his world with her. It wasn't that he hadn't wanted her to be happy, it wasn't that he didn't find joy in the fact that she had found joy. It was simply a little, stupid, petty thing, and he hated it. In his hearts, he blamed the humans who had been accompanying them because he was sure, Time Lord that he was, he would not have succumbed to such a base emotion without their maddening influence. They kept trying to get him to talk about it, too, which was actually worse, and he'd wandered off, leaving them to explore the London of the dawn of the twenty-first century, a time they might well live to see, provided he could ever get them back to their homes in the first place.

It was a simple but unavoidable fact that Susan had been his only and every care, even in this increasingly difficult and dangerous new lifestyle of his. They had given him the inexplicable girl when she was very young, explaining that she was his grandchild. Although understandably baffled by that fact, he had thrown himself into the role with gusto, simply for the fact that, as an utter orphan on his world, it was beyond brilliant to acquire a family member of his own, even one he couldn't understand.

When he sat down at the small cafe, it was only because he was tired, tired from his age and his grief and reborn loneliness. He had no intention of speaking to another of these ridiculous human creatures, not when one of them had stolen his only family away from him, not when even the wonders of all of time and space had not been enough to truly hold her love when there was that wonderful human boy there to hold her hand.

So when the peroxide blonde with the badly educated accent flung herself down into the chair next to his and shoved a basket of some greasy food-like object in his general direction, he was ill disposed toward her, to say the least. When he asked if he could help her, he said it in a singularly forbidding tone, intent to make it unequivocally clear that he wanted nothing to do with her or her species in general until the end of time.

Then, the wretched little wench offered to share her food and he was forced to look at her, really look at her.

What he saw would have absolutely staggered him, were he not in so much pain. As it was, she merely interested him enough that he agreed to have some chips. He was surprised, and honestly a little delighted, to discover that they were quite excellent, even if they did go a long way to explaining why human beings died young from heart failure so often. He asked for her name, surprising himself, now.

She introduced herself as Rose Tyler. So now the creature absolutely swirling with magnificent strands of time traces had a name. He was quite bewildered and more than a little annoyed, however, when she went on to ask him what was wrong.

Something in her manner, in her luminous personality, or maybe in her glittering mystery amused him. A human being might have two or three time traces converge on them, maybe a few more if they were crucial. This one, though, was absolutely wreathed in them, a simple pink and yellow child who sparked and glowed in golden glory. He had known senior Time Lords without that kind of aura clinging to them. It was as if Time itself was familiar with her, always out to guide her wandering feet and charm her feckless human heart.

Already, she was charming his own hearts, which he found only doubled by her gift of a drink. Her offer to talk, though, was just so like these simple ape-descended primitives. However, coming from her, a stranger to him in many ways (and yet so painfully familiar and why was that?), the invitation suddenly seemed welcome.

So he told her as little as he could about Susan's departure, just that she was getting married, just that he would miss her. He found he couldn't tell her more, even if he had wanted to, because she reached out and took his hand and the chaos of emotion that had been batting through his head for days abruptly stilled. He moved to pull away, but the gesture was so right, all of the sudden, tingling sharply against his memory. He couldn't escape the sensation of correctness, of perfection, so he ignored it instead and let her talk.

The wisdom with which Rose spoke was simple and painful and so very accurate that he found himself admitting it willingly. She was still very young, and obviously so important that he asked her what she would do with her life. Perhaps her goals would explain why Time lived all around her.

Instead, she gave him the answer of the fate he would have expected for a council estate child. He protested, rather annoyed at early resignation in someone with her gifts to offer.

Then, she admitted, as though it was rather a guilty little secret, that she would like to travel. He told her the truth, that his companions were generally miserable, because he was not fun or kind but rather hard to get along with instead.

What she said in answer to that quite snatched his breath away. "If I travelled with you, I'd love it, and you, very much."

He nibbled the chips as he tried to assimilate his own reaction to that statement, baffled by the feeling of rightness, stunned by the sudden deep-seated desire to show her the Universe because she deserved it. She was too young for him to even think of snatching her away from her home, but he imagined that his life would have made sense with her clinging to his arm, her hair in wild disarray, her rich brown eyes wide and wondering. He found himself telling her that she could travel with him, in her future, which only made her laugh, which sound he found he liked very much.

Her kindness and her sympathy made it one of the very best days of his recent life. When Ian and Barbara approached, their usual expressions of worry tinged with sympathy on their very human faces, the girl seemed to know it was time for her to go. She stood and she leaned over him. He turned his head, surprised, as she kissed his cheek and smiled deep into his eyes, her own so full of gentle affection and glittering promise.

His utterly flabbergasted companions stood with him and watched the girl go to join her friends. He set off away from the shop at a brisk walk and wondered idly when he would next see Rose Tyler. It might be yesterday, or it might be three hundred years.

"Who was that girl?" Barbara demanded in her usual curious tones. Maybe it was the girl's influence, but all of the sudden he could hear the maternal concern in Barbara's voice, just as he could finally read the loyalty and compassion in Ian's face.

"That was one of the wonders of the Universe," he told them, impishly keeping his secret to himself. "She's called Rose Tyler, but that's the only simple thing about her."

"She's like Susan, is she?" asked Ian, kindly.

He considered his answer carefully, thinking wonderingly of the beautiful little human who had stolen a part of him in such a very short time. "No," he said, quite a bit more gently than he would have yesterday, "she's like Rose."


	8. Five

_The stories that follow are paired. The opposite story is called "When You're Older" and can be found on my Author page. Both stories follow Rose's chronology and will be updated simultaneously. I also still have to disclaim, even though getting that job is now my New Year's Resolution. _

_This chapter is dedicated to Fayth3, who's "Someone New" almost stopped this one from being written. Cheers to a brilliant writer!_

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Five: Because He Needed Her**

The Doctor leaned against the wall, watching Turlough sulk off into the crowd. So, they were at some kind of loud and lurid charity New Years Eve party in London, and certainly no where near Dantura Prime, in direct but traditional contradiction of the Doctor's wishes. Still, only Vislor Turlough could find an excuse to hate a party, although the Doctor was willing to concede that the loud, giggly blonde woman (roughly 15 years the boy's senior) might have been a bit more than a mere excuse. However, when Turlough reappeared half an hour later, still unable to detach his escort, the Doctor overheard him say, smoothly, "Let me introduce you to my friend, I'm sure you'll just love him." He decided then and there that discretion was indeed the better part of valor, and more to the point, hiding was the better part of discretion. He was reasonably sure that the coat room was unpeopled at the moment.

He ducked inside not one moment too soon and went to hide behind the rack of coats, in case either Turlough or his strange new friend were clever enough to look in here. He knew the boy had long since given up his original goal of killing the Doctor, but he wasn't sure that would hold true through being clung to by a lonely sound system who, for some unfathomable reason, terrified every bone in the Doctor's body (his face, particularly, was wary of her, but he couldn't say why).

He peered through the coats to make sure he was well hidden and tried not to remember the look on Tegan's face just before she'd run from the warehouse, leaving him alone, except for Turlough and a room full of bodies. The more hopeful he became, it seemed, the more death stalked him, waiting every where he arrived and striking randomly at nearly everyone he came in contact with. It had snatched Adric from him far too young, had taken so many people on Terminus that Nyssa, sweet, gentle Nyssa, had decided to stay and risk her life for a chance to save theirs. And now, Tegan, brave, willful, stubborn Tegan had stood amongst the dead Daleks and corpses of people who had no business ever encountering a Dalek, live or dead. She had looked at him, eyes full of pain, and finally, after all she had seen and all they had done together, her spirit broke. It had been a bitter thing to watch, quite apart from the pain of her departure.

Time had taught him that his life was dangerous, but it had never before cost him so much as the separate losses of Adric and Tegan had done. He was, all in himself, becoming deadly, a veritable magnet for destruction.

The distraction of the opening door would have been welcome, but he was worried that Turlough had finally found him, so he peeked out through the coats and saw, instead of more trouble brewing, a small, smiling miracle, in the form of a lovely young woman.

Time traces gathered around her, all kaleidoscopic and jubilant, enclosing her small, pretty form in an exotic, vivid nimbus of sunshine and possibility. A veritable array of splendor, she stood and watched him with a humorous cant to her head, never knowing and never seeing that Time itself was dancing ecstatically in her wake.

He couldn't resist talking to her after the comic nature of her opening sally, and a charming threat to hand him over to be snogged by random people in some human New Year's ritual.

They continued to banter and he found himself delighted by her quick wit and easy charm, right up until she said something that reminded him of Tegan's absence. Then, he lowered himself to the floor, thinking of accepting her invitation to talk, or at least to keep the game going. She was wearing, however, a very pretty, fluffy little yellow dress that wasn't suited for carpet at all, so he pulled his coat off for her to sit on, which she did, though her face was quite confused and he wondered if she had never actually met a gentleman before. To be polite, he asked why she was hiding and learned two things quite quickly - one, that she didn't want to tell him the truth, and two, that she was incredibly perceptive.

"You look as though you've lost your best friend," she said, and that hurt, so very much, because she was right, so pinpoint accurate that even he couldn't have said it better, though he'd always had a way with words. Still, he didn't want to discuss it, and certainly not with a teenager, so he reached over to pat her hand, to tell her not to worry her pretty, Time-wreathed head about it. Her hand turned and locked with his, just so, and he looked up at her, a start of recognition and wonder jolting him sharply.

He couldn't remember for sure how or when he'd met her, but he knew her, and he knew she couldn't be more than fifteen years old. That was the problem with difficult regenerations. Even if the memories were all there, some of them never connected back up where they were supposed to do. This memory, whatever it was, had apparently left him with no idea of the correct way to respond to her.

There was something cathartic about letting it out, even if it was the highly edited highlights. Even as vague as it was, his memory told him she would understand and be kind. It was the most annoying feeling, like when he met someone who would be an historical figure in the future but was a bell hop in Cardiff at the moment.

As they talked, he remembered very quickly how gifted she really was. Her revelation about her jealous ex-boyfriend was as cute as she was, and he put down his own feeling of envy to sympathy, even if he refused to miss the chance to call the boy an idiot and remind her that she was clever in her own right.

It seemed to embarrass her and please her at once, as her cheeks flushed and she looked away, talking about school reports and not about what was so obvious to him, her brilliant understanding of the way the mind and heart worked.

When she finally believed him, what she told him was the revelation he'd needed to come to terms with this latest in a long line of disasters that seemed to have begun the moment he sat up under that radio telescope. He wondered then why he'd never considered how Tegan had been changing, and how she might have become uncomfortable with the changes that were happening to her. Not his fault, not her fault, not a fault at all, just accepting and doing what was right for herself, when she could.

Rose, only a teenager by her century's standards, had figured it out exactly right, and without even the benefit of ever really knowing exactly what was going on. How in the world did she know exactly the right thing to say?

And she apologized, suggested he ignore her! Didn't she know, couldn't she see that she was some kind of genius, that the talent of understanding the true motives of a person was one talent you could never learn with books or even practice? It was something that came from the soul, from within, and if anyone had ever been born with a gift, she had. He set a hand on her shoulder, to reassure her, and watched her flush with gratitude and something else, something that made him feel quite smug and nervous at the same time.

So he told her, definitively, what she was, a child-prodigy, feeling a compelling need to emphasize the word "child", to himself as much as to her. It disturbed him, greatly.

If she had been raised in a culture that considered her an adult, he wouldn't have been bothered by any of this, he knew. It worried him, as much as realizing he was still holding her hand did, enough to make him change the subject abruptly back to her singing, wondering why she didn't like it if she was good enough to be asked to sing a solo in public.

"I sort of hear music," she told him, blushing.

He looked at her, studied her flower-like face, her fair cheek brushed with dainty pink color, her soft little form all encased in strands of Time that clung, euphoric, to her every human breath. Emotion hit him, hard, right in the ribs, and he stared at her, every bit as enraptured as the lines of possibility that clung to her. "Yes, I rather expect you would."

He shook it off - he'd had eons to practice - and asked why she was still hiding if she loved music so much. He didn't know if he was trying to get the truth out of her now, or just trying to learn more about her. She answered, so very human, so very much herself, that he laughed out loud for the first time in as long as he could remember. "You're a completely precious girl, Rose," he told her. "A treasure. Don't ever change."

But the laughter couldn't last because she was right, there were too many profound things in the world for songs about rainbows to really hold her attention - or his - for very long.

"No," she murmured, her voice like poetry, "I feel like singing about rain, and dancing with strangers, because you're looking for someone who isn't quite there yet. Being too young. Saving the best for last."

He couldn't help adding to her list; the feeling of rightness that stole over him had completely stolen all sense of reality from their situation. "Letting go, when you just want to hold on a little longer. Holding on, because you don't know what else to do. Wishing you weren't the last one standing. Chasing after a mirage on the horizon because it's the only thing you can see for miles."

Her face was calm and picture perfect, like stardust bathed in candle light, as she continued. "Living like your last breath is the same as your next heartbeat," she said, and her words were like joy and pain, simultaneously, flung into his hearts together and spelling out the truth of his life. "And wondering. And watching the stars..."

"And waiting," he said, and found her speaking the exact same word at the exact same moment.

Time stopped as he met her eyes. Deep pools of gold-flecked brown, wonder and innocence shone out from them like a full moon on a dark night. He could take her away from this life, it would be so easy. Just take her hand, just tell her one word. She would come with him, and in time, she would come to know him. It would be so easy for Rose - she could learn human beings from two sentences about them, so even a lonely Time Lord wouldn't be too difficult, not for someone of her incredible depth. This woman, however young, everything about her felt like the memory of a dream, or the echo of a home he had long since forgotten he had.

"She couldn't have known you at all," Rose said softly, tears in those warm, comfortable eyes as she blinked hard to fight them off.

"I don't know," he admitted, wondering how he was keeping his sheer terror from showing in his voice. "It's not safe, my life. It's hard for someone to stay with that."

"I'd stay," she said, with such conviction that, had her words been a command, they could have stopped the Universe.

Fighting the wonder and the fear and the joy and every other emotion back into the corners of his mind, he still had to tell her the truth, what little he could see of it, that there wasn't a force in this world that could have dragged her away. And now, he needed to get away from these dangerous waters, before things turned infinitely more murky. The best he could do was to go back to her singing, though, because everything else had utterly deserted him.

She agreed to sing for him, and her voice absolutely defied description, though the idea of honey bubbling up from solid rock was very evocative. So was sunshine, cutting through lowering clouds that covered the world. In his mind, he could see her singing, almost hear a different tune, and the same one, and... it was making his head hurt, even though he had the verb tenses to cover four active dimensions. So he tried to tell her what she sounded like, but in the end, she gave him a word, the best word, not just for her singing voice, but for her whole self.

"Familiar?" she said.

"Yes," he said, thrilled that her genius of understanding extended even to this. "Have we met, do I know you? Because I can't imagine I'd ever have forgotten a girl like you... oops." He closed his eyes and scolded himself quietly. There was absolutely no excuse for that sort of behavior.

Her nature and her personality, her defining characteristics of compassion and empathy were alarmingly attractive. Were she but a few years older, he knew, the physical attraction would have been there as well, to complete the complication of this intractable situation. It was all he could do to sit there without trying to defend himself, because it was such a complex morass of evolving emotion that he couldn't see where it was leading except into something that both terrified and exhilarated him.

Mercifully, the countdown to midnight began in the next room, and he found a chance to tease her far more safe than any explanation he could have stammered out. "Here you are, shut in a coat room, protecting me from being kissed by strangers instead of finding someone to kiss yourself."

Anything, everything, could have warned him what she was about to do. He could have arranged to be half-way across the room when she tried it, but he was too caught up in the contemplation of the puzzle of her familiarity to realize it until he had one more thing to add to the list of things that were so familiar: the feel of her lips on his.

He froze solid, inside and out, while her lips brushed his with a sensation that was very nearly enough to bring him to tears. Why, why did her kiss have to feel like that - like finding something long lost and missing? Why did her touch have to remind him that he was alone, and how very alone he was? And why did she have to be so young if she was going to be so achingly familiar?

And why did she have to risk her heart like that, at that age, over him? He reached over and took her nervous face in his hand, because he had to go, now, or never at all, and she needed to know that she wasn't wrong - just early. "Just stay glorious, Rose. Never change, not for anyone. And though I shouldn't say this, because I wouldn't wish me on anyone, I do hope we meet again soon."

Watching those wonder-colored eyes fill with tears, he just wanted to hold her and tell her it was all right. But if he put his arms around her, he would never let her go. Fifteen. "I'm so glad I met you," he said, because it was true.

"I love you," she told him. She meant it; she loved him deeply and longingly, in that sudden, vulnerable way that young women could love. He could never have doubted that, even though he thought he should.

"Yes," he said, the closest he could come to agreeing with her without tipping her distress into agony. She didn't need to know that his throat was burning, that his hearts were thundering, that the hand she was holding wasn't trembling only from main force of his will alone. He kissed her hand, and then her forehead and spoke her name as he remembered it should always be said. "I will miss you," he told her, because that, she did need to know.

Turlough was standing next to the punch bowl with the same older woman he'd been with all evening. It looked, to the Doctor's surprise, as if she'd charmed the boy eventually, because he was hanging on her every word with a broad grin on his face. "Oh dear," the Doctor said, as he realized. "Excuse me, my friend's wanted back home, so sorry." They went back to the TARDIS and the Doctor sent Turlough to have a nap and sober up.

Someday, very soon for her, and he hoped not too long for him, she would accompany him. That would have to be enough for now. The Vortex whispered quiet promise around them as they slipped through and the TARDIS sang of hope ...and roses.


	9. Six

_The stories that follow are paired. The opposite story is called "When You're Older" and can be found on my Author page. Both stories follow Rose's chronology and will be updated simultaneously. I also still have to disclaim, because my New Years' Resolution is not working so far._

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**Six: Because She Wanted Him**

He came here mostly to sulk and try not to worry. The trial was over, the past companion married off and satisfied, the future companion returned safely to her correct time line, and the TARDIS hidden well out of sight of that strange group of people who had been staring at it from behind lamp posts. Then, he found a pub and watched cricket on the tele.

He hated cricket in this incarnation almost as much as his previous body loved it, but what he hated even more was to see someone looking as miserable as he felt. Especially, he hated it when she was a beautiful young human who appeared, to his alien eyes, like Time itself doted on her. The girl at the next table was a simple enough looking little creature, dressed to the nines with bloodshot eyes, but the time traces that converged on her danced attendance on her every gesture as though her delicate forward motion through her life was the most glorious thing in the Universe.

He couldn't resist talking to her, trying to offer her what little comfort he could find for her, and not just because he was worried she'd had too much to drink and would get into trouble. That was a concern, too, after she'd informed him he'd look good with a flaming sword. But it seemed her drink was intolerable, as he'd learned first hand by finishing it for her when she'd barely started it.

So why, how, what in the name of Rassilon and every other lost and lesser godling had possessed her to ask him, of all people in the bar and in fact the world, that question?

"Wanna shag?"

"Wildly inappropriate", was his first coherent thought after her blatant invitation, though, "why wouldn't I?", and "that's a brilliant idea, why didn't I think of it?" had to be discarded as incoherent. They'd been pretty well formed for incoherent thoughts, but he'd already said something shocked and rude before he thought them.

Tears poured like rain down her face as she apologized and rose to leave the pub. That would never do - she wasn't in her right mind, and she'd end up hurt in some way or other if he let her leave to throw herself at a properly human male. He caught her arm and she spun on him, fist raised, splendidly furious, and he'd caught it, too. He would never be sure why, but he decided then and there that he had to take care of her. Time itself loved her, obviously, so it was easily a Time Lord's responsibility to look after her when she was broken and vulnerable.

That was all the excuse he was going to give himself. Any cinematic presentations that popped into his head were promptly banished to the cutting room floor. Still, he carried his coat with care as he took her hand to lead her from the pub. It felt exactly right, her hand in his, keeping her secure and safe and protected when she needed it.

The lost, lonely look in her eyes was an Earthly echo of his own, older sorrow. Such a bright, splendid creature should never have to endure this sort of pain, and his hearts ached in sympathy for her. He kept hold of her hand as he hailed them a cab and got in with her, assuring her it was for her own protection, mostly from herself.

She didn't seem to want any protection from herself, though, or from him. She was sitting a little too close and he could feel the heat from her warmer human body even through his layered clothes. He started to wish he'd put his waistcoat back on. "You have the most beautiful eyes," she told him in a sincere, tender voice.

He didn't know what she saw there, so many people saw odd things in a Time Lord's eyes, so he only thanked her politely and wondered if he could wriggle away from her exotic, familiar scent. The woman wasn't to be put off so easily, and what she did next could have dragged sane, sensible, normal men who couldn't really see her properly to worship at her feet.

For him, it was like being kissed alive by daylight. He gasped with the pure shock of the contact, and tried to pull away out of a rapidly fleeing sense of decorum, but she was far too clever for that by half, and used his surprise to gain entry into his mouth. Her quick little tongue darted in to taste him, tease him, entice him. He knew, beyond any shadow of a doubt, that he should stop this, must stop this. The fact that she tasted like peace and solace, the fact that her kiss was alien and glorious and enigmatically familiar, though...

He groaned and gave in, furious with himself for doing it. One kiss would never hurt her, not even the kiss of a Time Lord, not even a fallen one such as himself.

That reminder, the black, despairing reminder of exactly who he was poured over him like icy cold water and he drew away from her, sharply. He glanced warily at her, finding her chewing her pink and swollen lip. He could, of course, nibble on it for her, if she liked...

"Don't do that," he ordered. But she didn't know what she was doing to him, and didn't stop. He was losing his mind.

Time Lord, he repeated to himself. Twice Lord President of Gallifrey, and first candidate here after. Defender of the Laws of Time. He got out with her at his hotel and paid the cabbie. Wanderer, nomad, homeless vagabond.

"Stop that, you ridiculous child," he commanded.

She grinned at him, her little pink tongue poking out between her teeth. Oh yes, she did, she knew exactly what she was doing to him. She also took a moment to remind him that she wasn't a child. "And I'm deciding, right now, that I want you."

This, this was more than even a Time Lord should be expected to walk away from. A pretty blonde girl with glorious eyes and a young, ripe body all soft and delicious with promise. Standing there, looking him suggestively in the eye, insisting that she wanted him. Far better men than him would have fallen under the spell of those eyes.

"You don't want me," he told her, but found he couldn't tell her why she didn't want him specifically. She didn't need to know that he was a liar, a killer, or even an alien. All she needed to know, he was sure, he told her - that she would have taken the first man to pay attention to her, any man, any one at all. Yet again, he failed to keep his distance completely, because he couldn't resist taking her hand and escorting her inside.

She could sleep her bad night off in the bed in his room. He would retreat to the TARDIS - it was nice and secure from even this attractive fantasy she was trying to draw him into. In the morning, she would see that she had made a mistake, and almost made a worse one, and she would go and sort her life out, so she'd never bring herself that close to the edge of desperation again.

In the elevator, she told him, however, that it did have to be him, specifically him, not anyone else in all the world. She couldn't know that, there was no way she could have known that, and yet her face was so serene, so sincere, so enchanting, that he found himself wanting, desperately, to believe her, to believe _in_ her. She told him she needed him, so honestly, that he wanted it as much as he had wanted freedom when he stole the TARDIS. When she tried to kiss him again, he let her.

He gave in, at least for the moment, to the power of her spell over him, the divine feeling of her delicate beauty in his arms. He trembled when he touched her, afraid that he would break her, she was so fragile, so unbelievably young and innocent. Shadows kept him company and death trailed morosely after him everywhere he went. Surely that would hurt her, surely that would infect her as well?

At the door, she stopped him, telling him only three words, and he could feel the truth of them in the very center of his being. Though they rattled him, they burned as well, made her all the more irresistible because, no matter what happened, she believed them. "May whatever gods there are forgive me," he conceded, defeated. "I want you, too." And that admission, instead of crushing him under its weight, poured into him like healing, mending all the damage the past months had done, to his strength of spirit, to his self-assessment, to his courage.

He lifted her easily, kissing her with all the joy he had in him now, comforted and feeling stronger for every single breath he shared with her. When he set her in the chair nearest the door, she looked up at him curiously, eyes hazed and dreamy, so familiar as she sat there, but so beautiful she couldn't possibly be. He couldn't recognize her for certain, his brain had been so very badly damaged by this latest regeneration, and recent events hadn't helped one iota. But she should walk away. He asked her if this was a mistake, because he needed to know what she wanted from him and whether it was something he could give her.

Right now, if she asked for all the stars in the heavens, he'd be sorely tempted to snatch them down for her. She was so special, and she couldn't even know, not to take a risk like this, just to fling herself at a random stranger who by lucky chance happened to be the one person around who could really see her for what she was.

She would belong to something extraordinary someday, he knew, she would burn to set the stars in motion around her. She deserved so much more than a half-broken and ancient wanderer, but that was what she asked for, that and the night.

Her skin was fair and unblemished, pale and fine like quiet dawn. He felt as he watched her that he was watching a myth, a creature of light and divine promise that only walked the mortal Earth because she didn't yet know that she could fly.

"It's all I want. You and time. You can make everything better."

Which was as close as she could possibly get to actually saying his name in that husky, come hither voice of hers. He was a Time Lord, and she a treasure beyond the dreams of mortal ken. If time was all she wanted, then time as precious as she, she would have.

Reaching into the middle distance, he carefully borrowed the next six hours of her life, and stretched them through the higher dimensions, elongating them, extending them, bending them into a dawn that would only arrive days later. For tonight, at least, that was all his Time Lord power was good for.

Everything else was just a man and a woman, strangers in the night, and not so strange, after all. Her body responded to his touch like a fine and delicate instrument, playing a melody made for his ears alone. She glowed before him, star-like and sparkling, and her touch against his skin was like forgiveness for all his regrets. She never took her burning eyes off him as they moved together, and drove him to heights even he wouldn't have believed possible before.

He wanted to lose himself in her promise and her glory, forget everything but her voice and her smile. He wanted to touch her so deeply, she would never want the night to end. He was almost dying for her, not just her body, but every single thing about her.

He wanted, more than anything, to love her.

* * *

The night was for her, but it felt like home to him. Some time during those endless hours, she taught him how to laugh again.

"It's these trousers, right? They don't look good on you, 'cuz they're yellow. But they look just fine on the floor."

He listened to her sparkling giggle as she tossed them over a nearby chair.

"I'll have you know, I picked the entire ensemble years ago. And of course, I did it purely because I knew you'd hate it."

"Oh, so that's a new pick-up technique," she teased. "Wear clothes she just _has_ to get you out of?"

He smirked quite smugly, reclined against the pillows. "It worked splendidly, if I do say so myself."

"You say lots of things yourself. Arrogant, you are."

"Brilliant, though?"

"Oh yes, definitely. I feel like a shower."

"Funny, you look like a dream, nothing like a shower at all."

She laughed again and chucked a pillow at him, and then darted into the bathroom. They had a grand time playing in the water together, and this was what life was really about, laughing and being together and giving themselves and sharing this lazily drifting stolen time.

The very last time they made love, it was a shattering experience. They knew each other's bodies now, so they indulged in a lengthy, lazy, dreamlike exploration, all bittersweet and melancholy in a way. He guided her to that breathless height again and watched her fly. Softly, before she could leave him, forever, she opened those golden brown eyes and looked down at him and deeply into him. There were tears on her cheeks as she whispered to him. "My Doctor." 

He felt wonderfully, terribly alive, and tears started in his own eyes. He smiled up at her, watching the sunrise fall across her face and set the glorious, spinning time around to blazing. "Rose," he replied softly, and went with her.

* * *

He slept with her for a little while, at peace for once in his life, content to lie dreamless and fearless with her body cradled in his arms. When he woke, he separated from her, careful not to wake her from her innocent slumber.

He watched her dream for some time while he dressed slowly, knowing he had to leave her now. There was a voice in him that insisted he take her along, and let the Laws of Time be damned to themselves and Pease Pottage.

He would see her again, before, he knew that. How she knew his name was a mystery, but so was she, little human creature that Time itself adored. He had loved her once, and would again, and with all the mysteries of the Universe, maybe there was an answer there in her softly throbbing human heart.

He scribbled her a note to tell her to stay as it pleased her, to help her, because the normal world outside this room was hard for her and probably a little wrong. The breakfast he arranged for her came from the TARDIS, presented with a small, young rose, a new open bud of pink, that spoke of love unrealized.

Finally, before he could change his mind and destroy the beauty of the night and of the one perfect Rose, he reached out and brushed her face, kissing her forehead, kissing her goodbye. He stretched his mind into hers and blurred her memories of the night, his name, his face, his sorrow. He left his love for her, because it would always be hers, no matter how time changed him.

His hearts heavy and aching in his chest, he turned away from her and returned to the sadly singing blue box. He'd checked the address, knew exactly where he needed to be now.

* * *

"Jimmy Stone?" he demanded of the skinny, staring young human who answered the door.

"What's it to ya?" the kid asked, rudely. He was hung over, and probably drugged, to judge from his eyes. He stank of stale drink, cheap perfume, and cheaper cigarettes.

"You hurt Rose," the Doctor said, coldly. He plucked the boy up by a shoulder as if he were weightless and dangled him in the air. "You hurt her and you made her feel worthless and you don't deserve to breathe the same air she does, or walk on the same ground."

The boy was trembling in the Time Lord's grip, because the Doctor had been unable to stop himself glaring with the full fury of the storm blazing in his eyes. "Yeah, I know, man, I'm scum."

"Too right," the Doctor agreed and flung him into the room. He closed the door quietly behind them. Then, he towered over the cowering boy, and it was only the knowledge that Rose had once managed to love even this that saved the worthless creature's life. "You need to leave her alone. Never go near her again, never touch her again. Never even look at her again, because she's so far above you that there are stars closer to your filthy, wretched existence than she is."

The boy was nodding blankly at him, so the Doctor bent to glare right into his eyes. "Don't be here when she comes back. Because if I find you've hurt her again - and I will know - I will do such things to you as are only imagined in the dark nightmares of saints and demons. Give her what you owe her, if you even have it, and forget you ever met her. You, Jimmy Stone, are a fool, and you've lost your one chance at being loved by something wonderful. Leave her alone and never come back."

He turned away then, certain he'd made his point. However, he stopped just before he opened the door. "And clean this place up, you can't have her here in this kind of filth!" He let himself out, and turned back to the TARDIS, satisfied that he'd done what he could for her.

Setting the dematerialization sequence, he reached then, into his own memories, and blurred the true glory of the night away.

He would always wonder who that shining girl was, but ages would pass before he even suspected he knew.


	10. Eight

_The stories that follow are paired. The opposite story is called "When You're Older" and can be found on my Author page. Both stories follow Rose's chronology and will be updated simultaneously. I also still have to disclaim, because, while I believe in miracles, one hasn't happened yet._

* * *

**Eight: Because She Loved Him**

The bells were ringing in the cloisters, bells that had been silent for eons, bells he had heard only once before. A fallen god woke screaming in his tomb, and the TARDIS was singing a dirge in sympathy to his grief.

The Doctor had heard it all, and known that the time at last had come. He checked his lists and knew he was prepared. The War had finally started, Ragnarok, the fall of the gods, the End that had been coming since the Universe first spun Time from her loom.

He would do what he must, he assured the bells and the summons and the mad old deity who shouted his name to the heavens. Head bowed over the console, he knew, somehow, that this was the end, at long last.

"Just once," he dared, "I wish..."

The TARDIS materialized and he stepped out in bewildered wonderment. London stretched out before him, his favorite city on his favorite world. Locking the doors behind him, he walked slowly around the band, around the balcony and, almost in a trance, leaned out on the railing to look on it for the last time.

He knew she was there the moment she arrived. There was that familiar fragrance, and the brush of pale blue, distant memory. She granted him his silence and allowed him his solitude, but he knew he should have expected her. She was always here when he needed her, never very far from his pain or his confusion. Just as he had always been there when she needed him, through random chance and comically divine twists in circumstance.

He dared to glance at her, wondering if this could possibly be true, if the warm human body leaning so close to his own did indeed belong to the one person he had wanted to see before he joined his people in a march to their doom. There were so many friends he could have taken a moment to say goodbye to, but she was the one, the only one he couldn't have said goodbye to without help.

But it couldn't be her, could it? The memories were scattered, shattered, tossed by the storm of his life and blown away in the winds of Time. Still, any risk, any chance. He spoke, not an invitation, simply a benediction. But if she was who she was meant to be, the words would be enough.

She responded, softly, tentatively, apologetically, almost as if she knew what it would mean to him to never again walk the streets below them, never again watch the stars above them. There were caught there, between his home and hers, between memory and dream, and it seemed so perfect, so likely all of the sudden that he turned and met her eyes.

There was no recognition in them but, utterly certain now, he knew there should be. He told her so with quiet awe, even though she couldn't quite believe him.

He knew her, oh how he knew her. Centuries of dreams and starlight and half-heard snatches of song, images of Time, all hazy, crazy, caught in forgetfulness and forget-me-nots, the unmistakable sound of the rhythm of her single, throbbing heart, the echo of her whisper and her laughter, the answer to it all, such a very long history; it spiraled all together with the endless flow of possibility that surrounded her like a goddess's cloak, forming that single, golden, perfect truth, and it was a truth to shake the heavens, and it was her name.

She spoke it the same instant it came floating, independently, into his memory, and then she offered him her hand.

The Doctor kissed it, a gesture that was painful and breathless and beautiful. All the while, he watched her eyes and saw them burning and glassy. He turned her hand in his until it fit the way it was supposed to, and again memory seared into his skull. Lost and tumbling loose for so long, they burnt so sharply into his mind that he could almost smell them all. That it should come to this, that he should come to this. The last free, peaceful hours of his life, and they were going to shine and hurt and echo with all the unreachable yesterdays he had never quite understood.

He spoke to her of the coming War, assuring her when she asked that the world below would still be standing when it was done. She couldn't possibly grasp what was going to happen, what was really coming, but she thanked him sincerely, with a voice that spoke for all the races of mankind. She had that much power, certainly, it was all there in the way that Time caressed her, unknown and unseen, skittering, ecstatic, over her every human breath.

He knew, just from the way his eyes couldn't stop watching her, that he had to bring this back to reality and quickly. His life had become ever more complicated since those various times they first met, and he couldn't bring her into it because, for all that he had desperately wanted to see her one last time, he realized now that her life was a much more peaceful place than his had ever been.

So he mentioned the music, and she smiled, looking for all the world like she was thinking, searching that gifted little mind of hers for the memories his very presence might just be dragging up.

"What're they called?"

"Bad Wolf Rising," she replied, blithely, and compared them to other bands.

Something walked over his grave.

"Dance with me?" she asked.

The music was good, the night was perfect, and so was she. "I don't dance," he told her, reminded her perhaps, because she shivered as she moved toward him.

"Yeah, you do," she replied.

She felt just as she had always done, but older now, coming into her true beauty, and it hurt so much that he would never see her eyes shine like that again. He was on dangerous ground here, as they circled in a quiet waltz, as the world and everything but the music fell away. He had to stay in her reality, had to, because what he longed to visit on her was more likely to cause her pain than anything he could ever inflict on anyone. Even he had to admit that was saying something.

He asked her about herself, but the instant she started talking, all his resolutions fell completely apart. Small memories of their encounters littered their conversation, and he couldn't stop himself from wanting his Rose back. If he was to go to War, if he was to die...

He pulled her closer, so she could rest her head against his chest. He knew that inhuman doubled rhythm might register, but she'd missed it once before, and definitely noticed it once before, so he had no clue what to think when she simply sighed and settled, content to let him hold her.

The band, the dubiously named, treacherous cover players, were playing one melody that no band on Earth would ever play on a day such as this. Rose, of course, recognized it, and he did, as well, how could he ever forget?

And now, she was realizing what was going on below the surface of this strange encounter. She met his eyes with hers wide, and he should stop, before he frightened her or forced facts on her that she was so much safer without. But he couldn't stop, not now, not when he was so close, not when she could actually finish the quote from the last time he'd seen her, their earliest encounter by her personal time line.

Was it so wrong? She was, had been all her life, the single most giving person he had ever known. Maybe it was thoughtless, making a wish to see her just when her life was making perfect, human sense, but if he had ever needed her in all the days he had ever lived without her, it was now. She had put him back together before, once when he was lost and bitter, once when he was feeling quite the failure, and once when everything he'd believed in had crashed on the rocks of despair. Surely, it was not too much to ask to have her hold him together just a little longer?

"If you could have anything in the world," he whispered, "what would you want?"

Those rich dark eyes looked deep into him, looking for something, seeing something in the depths of his own. She shone like the sun while she answered him. "If it was my last night in the world? The only thing I'd want is to spend it with someone who loves me."

And now, either she knew or she didn't. He bowed his head, and waited for her judgement.

"Doctor?" she whispered, a question, an exaltation, an invitation, all present in the tone of her soft, gentle voice.

Oh, how could he have ever forgotten her? He drew her close again, and kissed her, kissed her with all the regret and all the gratitude he had in him. His Rose trembled in his arms and though absolute ages had passed, she welcomed him still, held on to him still, loved him still.

He held her tightly, inhaling her gentle fragrance, and showed her the stars, the two in Orion that were the closest pointers to Gallifrey from Earth. The light of Gallifrey's twin suns would never reach here, but Rose never let that stop her from being fascinated. Funny how she'd never asked that before.

"'Second star to the right and straight on 'til morning,'" she quoted, a Peter Pan reference that felt so very strange, because it was he who had come back ever so much older than twenty. It made her seem the ageless one, really, when she had once complained that it would be him.

That band, they didn't know when to let up. They were singing and playing a song that struck a chord, though he didn't remember having heard it before. Still, he could see her fitting the lyrics as they sang, imagining holding her hand tight and running with her, away from danger, away from sorrow, away from all this, her golden curls flying behind her like a banner.

It was cruel, this, what he had done. He could apologize, at least, so he tried.

_...Someday, lady, you'll accomp'ny me..._

And oh, but she only wanted the impossible.

His hearts skipped a beat in his chest.

Take her with him...

Into this?

**Never.**

The rage that burned through him could have destroyed whole solar systems, but he contained it in his slender, weary body. The Doctor abruptly hated the Daleks, hated the Time Lords, hated that she should ask now, of all times. "Don't ask me for that!" he begged her.

He didn't hate her, couldn't hate her, ever. He couldn't tell her no, either, but couldn't she see that, of all the things she could have asked of him, this was the one that thing that was impossible? He had promised her, more than once, he knew that, but couldn't she see that he had to break that promise and it was killing him inside?

It turned out that she could see, all that, and more. She took his hand then, and took him away with her instead.

He raged and raved against the bitter reality of all this. He talked and wept and explained and demanded answers, some she had, some she didn't. All the while, she held him, while tears of grief and bitter self-loathing poured down his face. He even told her, though it nearly ripped his throat out to do so, exactly why this was all his fault.

"One chance. Wire to wire, and they'd've all died before they ever left their cradles. They're not people, Rose, they don't have free will, and I wouldn't do it, couldn't do it. They're just monsters, just filthy things that spend their lives in darkness. And do you know what my stupid, bloody high-minded reason was for leaving them be? Because of what others do because they exist. The Time Lords themselves stepped down from their clouds of glory to send me there, and in the end, I turned all Time Lord on them and decided not to interfere."

"I don't think you'll ever be much of an assassin, Doctor," she said softly. "If they wanted something murdered, they should have sent someone without a conscience or someone who can't see the whole thing."

"If I'd seen the whole thing... I don't know, I just don't know."

"It's not your responsibility to kill things that aren't evil yet. It'd be like bumping off Hitler as an infant."

"It wouldn't work, anyway," he said. "He was just a symptom of an underlying disease."

A small, twisted little smile graced her face. "I didn't know that," she admitted.

"'Fraid so," he replied. Then, he realized that, for all she was innocent of leading him, she had said exactly the right thing, one more time. "Rose Tyler..." he said softly, but he found his throat closed tight, and he couldn't go on.

"How long do we have?" she asked him, and looking into her eyes, he knew the answer.

"I made a single wish. I wanted one more chance to tell you I love you." He sighed and pushed his hair back out of his face, relishing the long curls, since they had even less time in the world than he did.

The Time Lords had taken the memories, and they could give them back just like that, either temporarily or forever. This time, it was meant as a gift, maybe even a thank you. It felt strange to speak of them to her without feeling the resentment that had lingered for so long. "Just tonight," he finished. "No longer."

She smiled wryly. He knew she was just dying to ask all the questions that had piled up in her head since she'd remembered him. He would have gladly answered what he could, but she waved it off. She was so generous, gifting him her night because it was all he had. She kept her curiosity and her secrets.

He felt compelled to apologize again, because what he was doing to her was cruel, to pop back into her life after all this subjective time, just because he hadn't wanted to spend his last night of freedom alone.

"Doctor," she whispered, putting her small, tender hand over his lips. "Apologize to people who regret. Not to me, never to me."

Then, she leaned forward and kissed him, and took all the pain away, took it onto herself, he supposed, because all his regret and sorrow disappeared in the sensation of her lips gracing his. They spoke no more words, then, except the small exclamations of delight and passion. She told him, in that sacred, human way, how much she still loved him, how much she would always love him.

They'd always thought, back then, in their logic and their innocence, that it was he who would carry their love on alone. Now, he knew that no one would ever remember it, and it hurt. But surely, if they must forget one another and never meet again, then it was the most correct thing to do, to celebrate a love like this, lost and found and lost again. He would never see her when she was older, after all, but for as long as he lived, he would love her.

* * *

Before the Doctor left to join the Last Great Time War, he spent the night in the arms of the shining human girl whose life had haunted his for as long as he could remember. In the morning, he would rise from their bed a soldier in an army, while the moon set out the window. She would kiss him one last time, to burn her lips into even his unconscious memory for all those times she had not been there to kiss him and for all the times she would never kiss him again. He would leave her behind and the memory would vanish, lost forever from the entire recorded history of time and from the minds of the lovers who had lived it. She would feel no pain and he would have no regrets. He would hang up the velvet frock coat, cut his hair, fight for the Universe. 

But while the moon hung cold in the autumn sky above the world he cherished like treasure, he would love her with everything there had ever been in his stormy, burning hearts. And when he let his Rose go, he would let go a piece of himself as well, something he would never be aware of losing, until one day, charging into a basement in answer to some inexplicable sense of necessity, he found it.


End file.
